The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  I turned around to find that most Northers had stayed behind. Only one woman—a short, stalky thing with a pimply shaved head—threatened me to keep moving by pointing a sharp blade at my face.

  Massive, drooping trees hung overhead, outside the wooden gate. How far did this barrier of theirs reach? It stretched all the way to the side of the mountain, forming a narrow path, almost like an alleyway.

  When we finally reached the end of this tunnellike path, everything opened up again, the wooden pikes stretching out and forming a circular enclosure around a space I hoped was something I was imagining. It wasn’t all that big, maybe several hundred feet in diameter, but the sight before me was enough to make me wish I’d let the Norther holding her club bash my face in.

  Individual cages constructed of bamboo formed a crescent moon at the back of this garden-like space—small cells large enough to let one sit or stand. The prisoners inside them paced from side to side, dropped into seated positions, or stuck their fingers through the holes of the cages. I couldn’t count them all because my heart was racing and my head swung back and forth as I tried to comprehend what was going on.

  Everything was a rich green, almost wet looking, and flowered vines climbed over and through the prison cells, but all I saw was torment. At last, like a camera lens coming into focus, I saw her.

  She was at the very center of this outdoor prison—this torture chamber if you will—crouched on her knees with her arms above her head. Her wrists were tied with vines that stretched all the way up into a drooping tree. Its slanted trunk originated from behind the wooden pike enclosure, but its branches, leaves, and vines extended so far that they formed a ceiling overhead.

  At first, I didn’t recognize her because both of her eyes were swollen shut. Her lip was split open, and the blood had crusted over it and down her chin. Her tied hands were purple and swollen, and I wondered how long she’d been forced to sit in this position. Her beige suede shirt was torn in half, revealing long jagged cuts along her ribcage that seemed infected.

  But that hair… It had grown out a bit, but it was still as silvery white as it had always been.

  “Murk,” I breathed.

  CHAPTER 7

  Her sky-blue eyes stared at the ground by her knees like she was stuck in some never-ending daydream. I blinked once, then twice, to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. How was Murk still alive? Why hadn’t they killed her?

  An indescribable relief washed over me. Our leader, my leader, was still alive.

  “Mur—” I tried, but Zsasz grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and my head rocked back and forth.

  “No one talks to her,” she hissed, her putrid breath mixing in with the taste of dehydration and stomach acid in my mouth.

  She stared at me as if watching a mouse trying to escape a trap. A sadistic smile crept onto her demonic face. A feeling of pure hatred built inside me. My loyalty to Murk overpowered my fear of Zsasz. “What’re you doing with her?”

  She threw out a hand with snakelike speed and wrapped her short-nailed fingers around my throat, squeezing my jugular until I found myself unable to breathe properly.

  “You will speak only when spoken to,” she said.

  I couldn’t move, and my face was swelling up. I did my best to nod, and when she realized I wasn’t trying to open my mouth again, she let go. I inhaled a sharp breath and rubbed my neck.

  “Take a good look at your leader,” Zsasz said, watching me more than Murk. “She did this to you. All of you. A true leader wouldn’t have banished a pregnant woman to the jungle.”

  I almost said, “Maybe a pregnant woman should have thought about her child before murdering someone,” but I bit my tongue. Besides, I didn’t know what, or who, to believe anymore. But if I’d been allowed to talk to Murk… Have her explain everything to me.

  “Please,” someone groaned, and a few fingers slid through one of the bamboo cages. She wiggled them, then tightened her grip and shook the cage. “Please!” she shouted. “We haven’t eaten in four days…” and her voice faded, almost as if she were too weak to finish her sentence.

  Zsasz shook her head and laughed. “Ungrateful. I give them a home, food, and water, and all they do is complain.”

  Was she being facetious? She raised her hands over her head to tighten her blond bun, and that’s when I noticed it. On her wrist, below her palm, was a black ink tattoo. It resembled a binary code, or maybe, an ID number. There were at least eight digits, but she’d moved so fast I hadn’t been able to count. Underneath the digits was a word written in Russian. What did it mean? Was it her name? I remembered Sumi mentioning that Zsasz was one of the Orphans, so did this mean all Orphans had an identifying tattoo?

  Had they been marked as children?

  Over the tattoo were two long scars running vertically down her wrist. They were thick, crooked, and embossed most likely due to the severity of the cut. I’d seen this kind of cut before and it had nothing to do with one of her many kills.

  Although I hated her, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life she’d had—what kind of childhood she might have had if she hadn’t been abandoned on this island. Maybe she’d be sitting in a coffee shop in Russia, sipping on a hot caffe latte in the dead of winter.

  Instead, this woman—this trained killer who’d once been a scared little girl—was tormenting and murdering women every chance she got.

  “What’re you looking at?” she growled, and I turned away, realizing I’d been analyzing her this whole time.

  Murk suddenly let out an incomprehensible mumble, and Zsasz swung her head in her direction.

  “What was that?” she said. “Does the almighty leader have something to say?” She moved in on Murk, her back rounded and her fists clenched. “Speak up.”

  I peered behind me and at the entrance we’d come through. The other Norther hadn’t followed us in. Had Zsasz truly brought me here alone? Would it have been stupid of me to try to take her on? Probably. I was half her size and she knew it, and my fingers were broken.

  If only I’d had a weapon, I thought, watching her walk away from me.

  She leaned on one knee, her face level with Murk’s.

  “I’m listening,” she said, and Murk’s bright eyes slowly rolled up.

  I could sense the hatred where I stood—the rage she held inside. But there was nothing she could do. Her hands were tied over her head, and she was at Zsasz’s mercy. I knew that feeling. In fact, that was precisely how Zsasz made me feel, even when my hands weren’t tied.

  Zsasz brushed a rough hand through Murk’s silver hair, making its ends stick out in every direction. I couldn’t believe how different she looked. Her hair was scraggly and hung over her brows, and her skin had lost its beautiful orange, almost brown, glow. She was nearly as white as Zsasz aside from the reds, blues, and purples all over her face. Her arms were bony and bruised, and for the first time, she resembled an old woman.

  Murk had always exuded confidence, certainty, and fearlessness. Who was I even looking at?

  Zsasz turned her head toward me with a repulsive smile. “No wonder your Village burned to the ground. You had this”—she prodded Murk in the cheek with a stiff finger—“for a leader.”

  Without warning, Murk spat a glob of thick saliva on Zsasz, who, to my surprise, didn’t budge. Instead, her head slowly turned sideways until she was face-to-face with Murk. She wiped her hand on her knee, where Murk had hit her, then swiped her hand along Murk’s cheek, returning her the favor.

  Murk pulled away, but Zsasz pushed harder and harder until Murk’s face was covered in gooeyness. Then, in one swift movement, she swung a closed fist into Murk’s stomach, forcing a loud groan out of her blood-encrusted mouth.

  Zsasz stood up and patted her clothing as if Murk’s saliva had contaminated her from head to toe. “Keep your germs to yourself, you old hag.” And this time, she swung her heavy boot into Murk’s chest.

  Murk let out a yelp, with her eyes sealed shut, and her body swayed
from side to side, her purple fingers clawing at the rope around her wrists. What was I doing? Why wasn’t I attacking Zsasz? I couldn’t move. My leader was being beaten, and I couldn’t move.

  I clenched my jaw, preparing myself to watch Murk take another blow, but instead, Zsasz turned around and marched toward me. My knees buckled, and I took a step back.

  “See that?” she growled, leaning into me. Her nostrils widened, and a droplet of snot hung at the tip of her pink nose. She threw a stiff hand in Murk’s direction. “Every time you pull something like that again… Every time you decide to stand up to any one of us, your leader will feel it.”

  I stared at her and then at Murk, whose eyes had shifted to the dirt in front of her.

  “Get her, Brone!” someone shouted. “Kill that fucking bitch!”

  I averted my gaze toward the voice, but Zsasz’s cold fingers grabbed me by the face, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “I should’ve killed you when you first came at me,” she said slowly, and then her zebra lips curved up on one side.

  My jaw clicked underneath her hard fingers, but her grip didn’t loosen.

  “But after the stunt you pulled today… I’d rather make you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.”

  “Why?” I muttered through clenched teeth.

  She pulled away, seemingly taken aback by my inability to stop talking.

  “Why?” she sneered.

  “Why do you h-hate us s-so much?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I’d made any sense with her fingers pressing my cheeks in.

  Her hairless eyebrows quickly came together, forming a crease over the bridge of her nose. “Like I said earlier,” she growled, “you speak only when spoken to.”

  “We’re people, too,” I continued. “I have a mom… I h-had a life. I d-don’t want to f-fight anyone. I want—”

  With her other hand, and without breaking eye contact, she grabbed one of my broken fingers and pulled up. I felt the excruciating, mind-numbing pain before I heard the snap, and I fell to my knees. She breathed heavily, her nostrils expanding with every breath, and the hatred in her eyes made it look like she wanted to skin me alive. She shoved me into the grass and onto my back. I pulled my arm to my chest and rolled from side to side, moaning in pain.

  My eyes were too wet for me to see anything. I blinked repeatedly, but all I saw was Murk’s figure sway from side to side as Zsasz delivered heavy blows.

  She was doing this because of me. All because I’d talked back.

  The cages around her started rattling, and women shouted things I couldn’t understand—some pleaded, while others yelled insults and threats at Zsasz.

  Why was she doing this? Why was Rainer doing this?

  Zsasz’s fuzzy figure suddenly appeared by my face, casting a cool shadow over me. She crouched, her leather boots squeaking, and rested a gentle hand on my cheek. “You so much as repeat any of this to your friends on the outside and Murk dies.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Brone, talk to us.”

  “What happened?”

  “Look at her hand… It’s worse than it was.”

  “What did that evil bitch do to you?”

  I closed my eyes and pushed the sound away. All I wanted was peace. Was that so much to ask for?

  “I don’t understand,” came Hammer’s voice. “I mean, why are they taking some of us and not all of us? Where’s Franklin, and why’d they choose her?”

  “You are all numbers,” came a croaky voice.

  I cracked my eyes open, my surroundings coming into focus. My back was pressed against a wooden box that stored all unwashed fruits and vegetables carried in by some of the Peasants. The sun was setting, creating long and wide shadows inside the market, and the sky had turned a papaya orange. I inhaled a deep breath of warm, humid air. Where would we sleep tonight? At our station again? We’d been sleeping in the dirt, too afraid to take over someone else’s territory by approaching the hammocks at the west side of the city.

  And then my gaze met hers. She sat across from us, at the other Food Station—the one filled with women who were constantly glaring at us like a bunch of wild dogs. But now, the looks we were receiving were those of intrigue and hesitation. This woman, the one who’d just spoken to us, had wrinkles deeper than any wrinkles I’d ever seen before and protruding brow bones that stuck out over somber gray eyes. Her chin, too, reminded me of a witch you’d find in a kid’s fairy tale. She was old—much older than Murk—and her eyes were fixated on me.

  “Numbers,” she repeated.

  “We heard you,” Coin said. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

  She raised a wavering hand, pointing at each one of us individually. “You’re all alive ’cause yous can produce, plain and simple.” She smacked her lips together, probably moistening what remained of her decaying teeth, then looked around to make sure the Northers weren’t around. “Dey don’t vant to kill you. Dey vant you to work. Dat’s all. And if you cause trouble, dey’ll teach you lessons over and over again till all you can do is work and not think.”

  “What about Franklin?” Hammer asked, her knuckles whitening around a coconut.

  The woman sucked on her bottom lip, her chin moving back and forth, but didn’t say anything.

  “They took one of our friends,” Coin said. “Why? What’re they doing to her?”

  I thought of the women I’d seen training for battle behind the pike gate and the ones who’d been caged in seclusion inside bamboo cells beside the mountain. What were they doing? I leaned forward, wanting to hear every word this old woman had to offer.

  “Sometimes dey take women for torture… To teach ’em,” she said, and her milky eyes rolled toward me. I looked away. “But if dey take someone for a long time, dey’re not comin’ back.”

  Everyone stiffened, but the old lady waved a crooked finger and continued. “Dey’re not dead if dat’s vat you’re thinking. Dey train dem to become Fighters. Dey’re the ones who helped attack dat old Village…”

  “That was our Village,” Coin growled, and the woman nodded slowly.

  “Your friend,” she said, her finger still wiggling, “she von’t be da same if you see her again.”

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Why was she telling us this? Was she trying to scare us, or help us? I thought of Murk, and my heart started beating hard. I wanted to tell them. They all deserved to know that Murk was still alive, but every time I thought of speaking up, I remembered what Zsasz told me and how she’d threatened Murk’s life. And I didn’t know who was listening. For all I knew, Zsasz had spies throughout the entire city.

  “Why her?” Arenas cut in. “I mean, why’d they take her instead of any of us?”

  The old woman smiled and searched the sky.

  “You deaf, you old fart?” Coin spat out, but Hammer swung an open hand at her shoulder.

  “I’ve been here a long time,” she continued. “Vatching. Observing. It isn’t all calculated. Dere isn’t always an answer. Dey act on instinct, the Orphans. If your friend seem strong, den dey took her to fight.”

  “Strong?” Arenas burst out. “That girl was a twig.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at Arenas. Who was she to call someone a twig? She resembled a preteen.

  “Not physical strength,” the old woman said.

  “She was the first to stand up…” Hammer said.

  “So unfortunate…” the woman continued. She averted her attention to the ground by her bare feet, which had thick yellow nails twice the length of her toes and curled into the dirt. “My sweet little girls.”

  Little girls? What the hell was she talking about?

  “I thought if I came, too, I could protect dem,” she said, though it came out sounding more like a whimper. She slapped two wrinkly hands over her eyes, her long brown fingernails poking out through her white bangs. “I tried so hard,” she continued, her head bouncing through intermittent sobs. “Dey weren’t like dis before… Is Rainer’s fault.” I recognized her accent. It rem
inded me of Everest, whose Ukrainian accent had always been so hard to understand. “She made dem into monsters. All of dem. Dey were such sweet little girls. So scared. All alone. I know vat is like to be all alone. Dat’s vy I came with dem. I was like dem once. All alone. Vy did I even survive? I couldn’t help dem. I should have died in dat crash.”

  “She high or somethin’?” Coin whispered, and Hammer smacked her again.

  And then I saw it. She shifted her hands, and on the inside of her right wrist was an old tattoo with Russian writing and numerical digits. It resembled the one Zsasz had, but I could tell it was much older. The ink was a faded blue, and the digit was much shorter.

  This old lady… It all made sense. She’d been with them on the plane. She’d probably been working at the orphanage, having once been an orphan herself. My mind raced as I watched her ramble on.

  “What’s going on here?” came Alice Number Two’s voice.

  She stood tall with two hands on her waistline, the sky’s rich purple overcast outlining her sticklike silhouette. The old woman quickly wiped her tears and let out a stupid laugh, revealing two chipped teeth at the front of her mouth. “Oh, you know,” she said, rubbing her wrists. “Dis damn arthritis is killing me again.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Brone, wake up,” someone said, and a soft nudge jabbed me in the ribs.

  I sat up, my neck stiff and my back covered in dirt. The sun had already risen, and women were walking about the market, tending to their daily posts. How long had I been sleeping? What was going on?

  The pain in my hand returned, and I grimaced. I wanted to tear off my entire hand. This was unbearable. It had swelled to twice its size, and the skin around most of my knuckles had turned eggplant purple with patches of yellow. The slightest movement caused a radiating pain to shoot up my wrist and into my arm.

  “Rainer’s coming,” Hammer whispered.

  “What?” I mumbled, my eyes widening at every face nearby. Women glanced at me as they walked with queer looks on their faces. There was no hatred, no hostility—only respect and empathy. I received a few brief nods, but I didn’t nod back. I didn’t know what to think. Was this because I’d killed a Norther? Were the Peasants happy about this?